The Wind's Path
by Talosee
Summary: Windkin's journey continues as the lone elf travels her homeland for the first time. With nightmares haunting her she finds out that things are often not as they seem. - And yes, there is the "M" in my rating; you know what that meens.
1. Of Nightmares and Memories

It's been a while, but now I have my internet back (I moved so things got complicated here...) and next to finish this story I figured I can post it here.

This little story is, like the others, part of a larger one. We accompany the blood elf monk Windkin (yes, that's her name) and her quest of how to be a blood elf (yes, she has to learn that...). This tale is a sequel to "Like the Wind" where we meet Windkin as a thieving adolecent adopted by a pandaren. Now we learn how she fares after that tryst in Stranglethron.

It's not entirely necessary to ready the first story, there are enough hints here, and some questions (if there had been any, no idea...) left open before are answered here.

I actually like writing this story; there hope you like reading it :) I also apologize in advance of any errors in spelling - I'm no native here but I try my best.

Furthermore, I'm just a World of Warcraft fan; I don't own it, I'm just writing and painting stuff about it.

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><p><strong>Of Nightmares and Memories<strong>

_Heat pressed down on her; dust, mingled with sweat, coated her skin, painting her brown like a mag'har orc. The every air made breathing a labor for her aching throat; there was a rasping sound deep down. Pressed into a shady hollow between two buildings, elevated from the ground level, she stared onto the waving mass of people. They appeared like a rolling ocean with rushing streams and restful pools. But those were dangerous, waters here in the Valley of Strength; dangerous for her. But there was the promise of… profit._

_Licking her dry lips, she felt her mouth water. So many merchants and inns, all those delicious smells. Even the strong odor of sweaty unwashed men and women and all kinds of beasts mixed almost pleasantly with the smells of burned juicy meat, fresh exotic fruits, beer and wine and sparkling water. Fresh baked bread filled her nostrils, making her insides clench in desperation. So many things, too much of everything and anything, so many wares of which she didn't even know their names. And so many people, their purses heavy with coins, coming to purchase all these goods…_

_Hunger. She was hungry. She was always hungry, even after sating said hunger. Constant famine was her everyday life, but maybe, just maybe, she could satisfy herself today – if just for a few hours. She had to be careful, thoughtful; she couldn't let herself being distracted by all these smells and the overwhelming noise._

_She was scared. Oh, so scared. She huddled petrified in her little nook, not moving one fiber of her bony frame. Profit. That was how goblins called it; to her it was chance. The chance to survive another day. She needed food, and her glowing eyes had already spotted a certain man, already drunk waving carelessly with his tinkling sash. But he was so big… and those tusks! She swallowed hard, her dry throat burning. All muscle and sinew, turquoise skin and a burning red mohawk, and _tusks_! She had never seen any troll with tusks like that…_

_But after hours of observing, he was her best chance: he was close enough to her little lookout; it was crowed given that they were close to the inn and the auction house – both places ever forbidden for the likes of her… And he was distracted, not only by too much alcohol; he was laughing and barking with others, companions or maybe friends of him._

_Courage. Breathe, and have courage. She trembled terribly, limbs shaking she lost faith in her long delicate fingers. The others had told her of how dangerous this place was, it was luring stray kids like her here; with all its promises and enticing scents. But this place was not for inexperienced, hungry, wanna-be rogues… like her._

_Don't think, just do. _Do it!

_Nobody noticed her as she creped forward. A street rat, just bones and bruised skin and wild hair; small and easily overlooked. It was her advantage. Her only advantage. It had to do. She had heard of this place… of its treasures… If this worked, she would be living for at least a week, maybe two. If this worked, maybe she could _start_ something._

_Noise and smells were overwhelming now in the middle of the humanoid cesspit. Small as she was, she was shoved and pushed more than she walked on her own feet; however, she managed to keep her quarry in sight, noting more and more details on him. Like those dark tribal tattoos: swirling beasts with claws and open maws, they did nothing to help her dwindling confidence._

_Tumbling, she managed not to fall when a sneering orc shoved her aside roughly; just when she noticed that greasy leather vest he wore without really covering those scary tattoos – probably just his intention…_

_Closer, closer she got, her heart thrumming in her ears; her tongue darting out, nervously licking her lips, her hair sticking to her forehead… just a bit more… His dark blue trousers were of the same style as his vest… His pouch was simple save for some beats dangling from some decorative cords. It would be hers… Slender fingers closed delicately yet cautiously around sturdy worn leather, fingers of the other hand loosened her booty… It was hers!_

_In her triumph and the all resounding noise, she missed the angry shout – but she didn't mistake that hard cruel hand grabbing and almost tearing her ragged tunic._

_He wasn't laughing anymore, or joking. He was snarling in rage down at the dirty scum that dared even looking at him. But she couldn't help it: shivering, she stared at his enraged face with blood red eyes, his tusks almost scrapping her face. She couldn't hear him, couldn't understand his shouting as he lifted her easily from the ground._

_Other than his friends, laughing at her poor advance and not taking the skinny kid any serious, nobody paid the angry troll and the horrified child in his grasp any attention. Staring down at her, he fell silent for just a moment. And despite the riot around them, the next time he spoke she heard him crystal clear: "So ya want ma bucks, mon? Let's see watcha 'ave ta offer den!"_

_Heat of the searing sun of Durotar cloaked everything in a warm heavy blanket made of air –touchable, and sometimes like a solid wall. But upon hearing him, she froze from the inside. Her hands, helplessly wound around his thick muscled wrist, unable to even close around it, shook even harder. She wanted to say something, anything… An apology, an excuse, a plea, a justification maybe, but no words escaped her trembling lips. She knew… she knew so well what war coming…_

_What she could offer… It had been taken before by countless other. It had made her sick every time to just think of those many encounters: her stomach coiled in itself in abhorrence… No! No, not again!_

_Darkness closed around them, almost darkness at least. Was it a shack, a side wing of some building? She didn't know. But she came by. Burning throat protesting, she opened her mouth and screamed! Nobody would help her, no, but she could gain a chance to escape – _

_A large hand, almost covering her whole face, suppressed her croaky cry. Wincing, she coiled in his grasp, panting due to rising and peaking adrenalin while thrashing with her arms and legs. To no avail. His free hand already pawned at her thin frame, she heard his still angry grunts next to her ear, and she felt his physical desire pressed against her back…_

_And then she sensed his growing frustration: his hand wasn't discovering treasures under all that dirt and rags, but only… bones. – She was prey, _disappointing_ prey. A scrawny rabbit in comparison to a fat boar… No meat, no form, nothing… just _bones_. And he did not approve._

_With a snarl he yanked her around, his hand now closing around her throat. She couldn't utter any sound save for some gagging, while she tiptoed to keep up breathing, gasping._

"_Little wench!" He spat in her face, making her flinch. "Ya be lucky I like meat an' fat on ma women… Clever ta stalk meh, tinking I would na' take ya on da spot." She wanted to say something; that she didn't have that in mind, that she would never think anything like that, but her trapped throat only granted her some rasping gasps while her eyes implored him, pleading him to release her, to have mercy, to not do… what did he have in mind now? If she was unsatisfying to him… wouldn't that be good for her? Why then was she still shaking like a leaf? Why was she even more terrified now than before? …_

"_But don' cha worry," he went on, a vicious snarl stretching over his face while his eyes kept roaming her body, "I can wait… Ya get yer fat and meat, and den…" Licking his lips as if tasting something delicious, he left the end open; open for her to fill the gap with images of horror and despair – when she was roughly turned around. The hand on her neck pressed down over her mouth again, wrenching her head sidewards that she thought for a brief shocked moment that he would snap her neck… His other arm wound around her, pressing her arms against her sides, one leg of his trapping hers. She was too bewildered to think – _

– _when searing pain flooded her senses. She almost didn't hear her own muffled screech, when her drained body jerked in his caging arms, hard and unyielding like steel. No thoughts, no panic… only pain! It started at the side of her head, like a stabbing blade, and radiated through her quivering body. He was eating her! _He is eating me!

_His teeth had closed over her left ear, sawing over it, drawing blood. Tears spilling over her dirty cheeks, she whimpered and screeched under his hand. She heard his humming as he suck at her blood, taking another sort of satisfaction from her body that she would have never even imagined in her worst nightmares! Even without outright raping her, he did defile her young body, rubbing his hardening manhood against her, grunting in primal need while he took away… everything._

_With a snarl he jerked his head, he tore off her flesh. A blinding spike of pain flooded her mind, her senses, when he ripped off the tip of her ear… but it was that wet heat in her back, spreading over her rear and rump, which left her stunned._

_The cage of his arms released her, and she dropped to the ground, her bones unable to keep her upright. Curling into herself, her breath was reduced to rigid pants, too shocked to cry or weep. She barely noticed him tearing a rag off of her dirty tunic, and wiping himself clean of any leftovers from his release._

"_Not bad for a future hooker," he snickered, flinging the rag back at her while rearranging his pants. "Tell me when ya be in da business; I sure be keepin' an eye on it."_

_A door opened and light flooded the room, blinding her._

"_Oi, man," a tauren called. "Are you done here? We're off." The intruder's eyes dropped to the miserable bloody mess to the troll's feet. "Is he still alive? … Or she…?"_

_Just to make a point, the troll kicked her hard at her shoulder. Gasping, she rasped, unable to make any other sound than a gagged sob. "She be alive," he still snickered. "Let's not keep da others waiting."_

_With that he left, the door closed behind the pair. Darkness again swallowed her. Silence…_

_She couldn't stay here; she would be discovered. People would ask questions. Where was she? Where had he dragged her to? – No time. She trembled violently when she straightened herself, her head pounding with the sound of her pulse in her ear. The pain was numbing her senses while her rational brain took over command._

_The side of her face was wet and sticky with spilled blood pouring from her wound… but she had to hurry. Her arm trembled when she reached for the rag he had torn from her tunic. The left-over shirt was too short now, leaving her private parts bare. She tried not to think, not to feel, when she unfolded the messy stinking piece of what had once been part of her cloth. Tying and wounding it, she made herself a skirt, barely long enough to reach her knobby knees. It was wet, and it stank; the strong smell was unerring. This moment she wanted to vanish. She wanted to sink into the bowls of the ocean, of the earth, anything, just to not ever face anyone ever again! She wanted to fall asleep and never wake… and no dreams, please, no dreams! She had no dreams anyway, no pleasant ones…_

… _She was already sleeping… dreaming… A dream… It was a dream._

No.

Still surrounded by darkness, the heat of Durotar's sun was replaced by cool air. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, Windkin felt wet tears all over her face and cushion. Her bed, she was laying in a bed… it was messy from her wild unconscious thrashing.

No, that had not been a bad dream at all… It was a memory.

Without thought, her hand drifted up, her long slender fingers searching for the tip of an elven ear… which wasn't there anymore: Her fingers touched rugged edges instead, where the nameless troll had bitten off the upper tip. Severing her, marking her… for what, she could only imagine. She had never met him again, thank the Ancestors!

Sitting up, her eyes found herself reflected by a mirror over the wash basin. The girl – no, the woman looking back at her, had glowing green eyes set in a dark tanned face. Broad shoulders, muscled arms, and heavy breasts were visible on the glass. A long ember red braid, frayed in the middle, hung down to her lap. The rest of her was covered by a double blanket, protecting her against the night's chill. Windkin knew what was hiding under it: a thick ass, equally thick thighs and long legs. She was a blood elf, yet she didn't look like one.

Dropping back into the sheets, a mirthless rough laugh escaped her; she wiped away the teary leftovers on her face. _More meat and fat_, he had said… She certainly covered that part now. Oh, may the Ancestors make that she would never again meet this monster. Let him be dead… killed somewhere far away, long ago. Let him be lost, let him have forgotten everything about her…

Why was this dream, this memory, pestering her now? It was an everyday present image: almost everyone she met looked in bewilderment at that missing ear of hers, always reminding her of how she had lost it… and to whom. She remembered every single detail of his face, the carvings in his tusks, his fearsome tattoos, his clothes, his _smell_. Even now, it still lingered in her nostrils like a persistent phantom… She had never before relived this horror as vividly as this night.

A memory, to point her to the future, maybe? Now that she was to return "home"? – _Fuck you, I'm gonna sleep!_


	2. The brooding Day after

**2. The brooding Day after**

Brill was a little town right outside the city walls of the Undercity, capital of the undead Forsaken. It was a place for people who found the city too busy, crowded, noisy… just not their style. Windkin agreed, though for different reasoning; it wasn't the ever present smell of decay, she got used to that quite fast, but the fact that it was so damp and cold. It wasn't the walking corpses of the city inhabitants, it wasn't even the grotesque interior, not left over experiments in the nieces, or that unhealthy look of the channel 'waters' – she didn't know if the green goo was water, but at least it was wet… ish.

In the end, she figured, she missed the sun, the sky. She missed feeling the wind in her tresses, the sun on her face… When one of the city guards advised her to visit Brill just an hour walk from the city, she quickly jumped at the chance. There wasn't much sun here, either, but anything else she'd missed was there… in a forsaken kind of way. She didn't mind.

Now she sat on the windowsill of her rented room at the inn, looking onto the town's plaza she watched the undeads busy goings-on. It was a macabre play down there, a parody of what these people had been and done before the Scourge hit them… and it was strangely normal – in a freaky, creepy way. It didn't bother her, either, she liked watching this organized chaos; and if visitors didn't stare at them too much, the Forsaken as a whole could be quite pleasant, friendly if they were in the mood for it…

Just after she arrived a few weeks ago, the guards had once again trouble with worgen infiltrators whose stealth abilities had been unheard of. Windkin had helped them dealing with the problem; as a matter of fact, she had been quite busy since she came here. It made her almost forget why she came to this gloomy cursed place, with sane as well as mindless undead, ghosts and a queen who's presence was everywhere in these lands, even while she resided deep down in the bowls of the Undercity. Windkin didn't have the guts to even get close to the Royal Quarters… and from what she'd heard so far about the Dark Lady, she didn't wish to make an appointment.

Now she looked down onto the plaza, the stone made perfection of the former Ranger General of Quel'Thalas overseeing the town of Brill, in sight. Never mind that she was an undead, never mind that she had powers now she didn't possess in life… never mind, that nobody knew about her motives. Windkin had overheard many shady tales about the Banshee Queen, and all in all it seemed she was even darker than those tales could comprehend. However, down there just below stood the portrait of just another _quel'dorei_, another blood elf, which even in undead seemed as the perfect opposite to her, just like the living ones…

Windkin huffed in annoyance. Even Sylvanas was more a blood elf than she! That guy managing fate and stuff really had it in for her… The dream made memory had reminded her of what and who she was, and of what truly separated her from other elves.

She was a _thug_. Nothing more. Her old master, Zhao, would argue: she wasn't anything _less_, either. But Master Zhao always had strange views about things… and in general opposite to opinions of other sane people, including herself. And yet, he had always seen the best in her; and while they were together she came close to almost believe him.

Tugging up her knees, she wound her arms around them, pressing her lips in a thin line while suppressing those traitorous tears gathering in her glowing eyes. No tears… no tears! She had been crying already. Whenever her mind tortured her with pictures of her old master, his face, his voice, his fat belly, or his grayish black and white fur, tears sprang on their own into her eyes, blinding and almost throttling her.

And just like every time, her helpless resolve failed her again. Who cares, she thought defiantly, nobody would notice her up here. Why should she care that she cried? And Master Zhao was worth every single tear she'd spend in his memory, and more. Maybe she was too young, despite all experience still a child; maybe that was why she'd never bothered to notice the wrinkles under his fur, or how whitish the originally pitch black patches of said fur were… How was she supposed to notice, anyway? She'd never seen him in his younger years and hot blooded Huojin monk… Could pandaren even _be_ hot tempered, like an orc?

Not Master Zhao. It was impossible for Windkin to imagine him differently; to her it was as if he had been born like that: wise, fat, strong, laughing, and never tiring of talking. As if an artist would have painted him into the world, letting him pop up right on the spot, with a mug of ale or two, balancing a third.

And now he was gone. Just like that. Killed by those many years he had faced before she met him, before he turned her from a stray kid into a monk.

She was a good monk, as long as her fighting skills were concerned. After a rather one sided meeting with a troll tribe and then a night elf in Stranglethorn, she figured that she had to be better prepared when venturing into hostile lands… and hostility, she had learned at an early age, was found everywhere whenever one looked like prey, easy prey.

But fighting, even if it earned her a living now, wasn't enough to fill her head… a luxury, she figured: Just a few years ago she wouldn't have bothered about things like that. Back then, her belly had decided over her moves and failures. Today, however, she realized that she was thirsting for more than just food for her body, and she blamed Master Zhao and the other Huojin monks for it: they said she had to find her roots back.

Which roots? She didn't have any! Parents dead, mentor and friend dead, no friends other than some pandaren – may the Ancestors bless them. She didn't even know if she had any family in this mystic land named Quel'Thalas. Maybe she had uncles and aunts, cousins and grandparents, who knew as little about her as she did about them. And if there were any relatives, how could she find them? … Did she even wand to rekindle with them?

She wasn't so sure.

Tears dried in a cool wind, bringing with it the smell of old trees and sadness.

She wasn't ignorant to the necessity to learn, but she had many doubts about this endeavor. The monks said she would find herself there, that it was important to know her homeland, her fellow kin, her history. Her identity. They said that even if fate had been cruel to her, in her bones, the very essence of what she was, she was a blood elf. Even if her conscious mind had to learn first what that meant.

She'd rather not.

Already, she knew they would look at her in disdain for her many short comings. There were blood elf thugs, rogues, yes, but those were successful in their business, flawless like all of her kin were supposed to be. She was nothing like that… she couldn't even steal the purse of a drunken troll… no never mind that as inexperienced as she'd been she wouldn't stand a chance against him even if he would have been asleep…

But Windkin was adamant in this: every blood elf was perfection. From early age to the far away stages of immortal-like ancients with limitless wisdom and power.

How could she put up with that? How could she face those beings and claim to be their kin? How could she look them in the eyes when her inner eye would always see that troll, and so many nameless others, forcing themselves on her… and her being unable to do… anything.

The day before she had received a letter from her pandaren friend Ji, who too mourned Master Zhao's demise. The other Huojin masters shared her feelings, but they continually encouraged her to return to her people. After last night's nightmare, however, she wished she could stay forever here in Brill, just some other stranger elf doing everyday jobs, traveling the woods, a bit of a loner… She would travel further south to the gilnean border, or east to the Plaguelands. She would give her skills as a fighter to those who would pay for it, an adventurer, a mercenary. A dangerous life, her own parents died because of it, but also a good one and not in the least dishonorable. Of course she would grant her help also to those with no coin; by now she could afford to be generous… She didn't need to know what it meant to be a blood elf…

Unfortunately, she had already promised to write a letter as soon as she got settled in Silvermoon. – Windkin huffed angrily. She had written a reply just yesterday, and by now it was on its way to Orgrimmar. Bad luck, bad timing – once again.


	3. Just another First

**3. Just another First**

"It is a pity you leave us so soon," Renee the innkeeper said; she managed to make her rotten face look sad. "Not many elves come here; you people make this place almost lively."

Windkin flinched inwardly but didn't let her notice. "I guess that's the way things go nowadays," she replayed smiling, shaking the woman's hand. "Always on the road, nose in the wind, to the next adventure…" What was she talking about; when did she hear that crap?

"Yes, you adventurers are a special lot, I guess," Renee sighted, not comprehending this 'lot' one bit. Windkin didn't blame her: she didn't get them either, she just pretended she did… "Where is your first stop?"

Oh. "Well," she hesitated, "I actually want to go… home… first. Meet with family and friends and… then I'll see… where the road will lead me to." Crap, crap, _crap_, she was talking nonsense! But Renee seemed to buy it.

The innkeeper nodded solemnly. "Yes, yes, some of us are not born to stay in one place," she said, passing her the small pack with food she had ordered before. "I'm not complaining," she added, misreading the elf's mournful look. "I'm certainly not born for the whole fighting thing, mind me…" She laughed, more a cackle given her bare jaw.

Windkin forced a chuckle and another smile. "Don't sell yourself short," she said, quoting her old master: "Every path is worth walking." Accepting her pack, paying a few silver coins – it was a large pack –, she was relieved to get rid of the chatty innkeeper. May the Ancestors bless her but she was a chatterbox! And Windkin hated those; she only barely got used to Master Zhao's almost constant mumbling and talking and she only did it because she'd loved him… Zhao…

This time, her resolve won over her emotions; no tears spoiled her seemingly carefree expression while she said her farewells to Renee, the magistrate and some other Forsaken, she'd befriended with in Brill. And by the time she left the town's border she had her feelings back in check. No tears, not any more, she'd shed them so often before in her life but they never helped, never comforted. They were water made weakness, and she wasn't weak! Not anymore.

She stubbornly shoved her jaw forward, striding fiercely to the looming shadowy ruins in the distance. She didn't like the idea; but then again, she almost didn't like anything the Huojin masters came up with and which was, in their eyes, totally beneficial for her. But, to once again quote her Master Zhao: "There was a time to learn and follow, and a time to think and resolve", and currently she found herself in the "learn and follow" phase… She wondered when she would finally get into that next stage. So far the masters had found her not ready for that… No need to point out that she strongly disagreed.

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><p>Tirisfal Glades was a major hub for Horde infrastructure. The Undercity and Orgrimmar had the largest zeppelin towers with destinations all over the world. As expected, the area around the high structures right before the gates to the Undercity where highly frequented.<p>

When Windkin arrived, a zeppelin had just docked; flocks of people of different shapes and sizes walked past her; they barely noticed another stranger traveler walking up the same direction as they did. Seeing the slender frame, they might have figured: blood elf, but only a few even noticed the hooded female, and even less cared.

Windkin was fine by that. Being ignored was something she preferred; being visible to others, to strangers, to those stronger than her; never bode well as experience had taught her. To blend in more easily, she adapted to the rogue's method: a plain brown cowl matching her simple tunic covered her head, shading her face; only the ember braid lay visible between her breasts. A pack slung over her shoulder; she looked like just any other traveler: a bit worn, a bit rugged; the air of competence surrounded her even if she didn't quite feel it herself.

Blending in, being invisible; it was almost surprising in how easily she fell back into old schematics. Hide and seek, not drawing attention; show them what they expect to see should their eyes fall onto you. Act casually and calm, as if it is normal for you to be there; as if you are even supposed to be exactly _there_, at _that_ moment. – These rules had helped her to survive the merciless streets. She'd never been a very successful thief, but then again, unlike many others she had lived through it and made something of herself. That at least was something to be proud of, she admitted to herself: to have survived that hell, to be just a fraction better, or luckier, than many others who might have been stronger than her…

She walked with the flow of humanoids, became one of them. Up to the city ruins, through the gates, past its guards and many invisible eyes, which were checking every soul coming close to the heart of Forsaken life on Azeroth. There were others who like her did not aim for the entrances which let into the depths of the undead capital. Other blood elves, she strictly avoided looking into their direction, and some tauren, goblins and orcs. They all turned to the right, up some stairs and into a broken down hall. In the back, their common goal, something magically: a floating construct made of a golden filigree framework, rotating around itself, with three small golden statues, three elven maidens… and with them, two red orbs.

Windkin knew what it was: a teleportation device. It was enchanted, of course, and could tell friend and foe apart to grand it's service only to the former. She also knew that she just had to place her hand onto one of the orbs. The touch of skin and enchanted jewel triggered the magic that would bring her within the blink of an eye to Silvermoon.

Simple enough, especially while watching others before her doing just that – and vanish right away. And none of the others found that strange. So why should she? – She was nervous. She didn't know magic; she could tell, when it was close, but she had never learned anything about how it worked or how it was created… it made her downright anxious. That knot in her stomach, which had formed since she first saw the crowds coming from the zeppelins, grew uncomfortably. It became straining to keep her blank façade up…

"Ugh, tell me again why we couldn't simply go to the bat handler and take a bloody _flight_ to Silvermoon." The tauren, towering right in front of her, seemed to be as uncomfortable as she was; his furry face glowered in irritation and for the fourth time he rearranged his large hammer.

"Stop whining," the goblin lady next to him snapped. "We don't have the time for that nonsense of flying. We already lost time taking that zeppelin instead of a simple portal…"

"You mean, if I would have taken the portal, we would take a bat now?" he asked.

The goblin rolled her red eyes. "Time is money, ironbelly. Now stop being a baby and get a hang on. Just close your eyes, hold your breath, and mind your balance. And keep to the ground."

Her travel companion snorted but didn't reply. "Good thing I didn't eat anything this morning," he mumbled. – Windkin, walking right behind him, had to force herself to keep on breathing. That was gold! That information was worth her weight in gold! She had been agonizing for hours over this, and now these two provided her with what she needed just like that? Fools luck.

With another huff, the tauren placed his large three fingered hand onto the orb – and Windkin felt the sudden void around her: it had been so comfortable walking in the shadow of that furry giant…

"After you, little Miss," the goblin said with a toothy grin, showing off pointy teeth.

Windkin gave an uneasy smile, hesitating. "What will that cost me?" she asked suspiciously. First lesson in dealing with goblins: never accept anything they offer you, may it be for free or not, with or without signing a paper – there was always a catch.

The goblin in the peculiar fashion of a shaman, made an offended face. "What do you think of me?" she asked, holding her heart in self-ironic shock, "I was just being nice!" By the sly wink, however, Windkin could tell that the goblin was simply toying around.

"Of course you are," she replied dryly. She knew goblins; in general, they would sell their own mother and grandmothers if it got them some promising profit. Aside from that, one had to be careful around them, otherwise you could lose more than just money… And that set aside, they were reliable companions who kept resources and costs in check; money was important after all…

The goblin lady didn't take the elven girl's reply any offensive; she shrugged. "Well, I guess I have to go after that whiner then." She made a face. "He probably puked up already… really hates portals and stuff, you know; simply doesn't have the stomach for it." With that, the green lady, her turquoise hair lay in tidy stiff curls, placed her own hand on the lower orb and disappeared.

Again, the vastness of this hall, it's broken down walls covered by ivy with no ceiling, seemed to press down on her. Come on, she said to herself, approaching the pretty device slowly. It's just teleportation, nothing big. She was a blood elf, after all; her people had actually invented teleportation – or so she had heard…

"If you're feeling up for it, lady, get moving or get aside." Crap! There was an orc, and another _blood elf_ – and she hadn't noticed him? No difficult task to do: like her, he'd been shaded by his larger companion…

She was too surprised to react: without thought, she reached for the orb – and regretted it immediately.

The goblin's words were forgotten: a sudden pull, a jerk, then the ground was gone. She fell! With wide open eyes, everything around her went striking bright. The grey mossy walls and ivy blankets disappeared, and suddenly she was gone. She felt herself being… gone. Away… not there – where ever that was.

The moment, in which she was greeted by eternity, was short lived, however. It was her training that helped her in the end and kept her from losing her balance and falling on her heavy ass as gravity had her back again, pulling her down. She staggered, reaching for a wall to finally stabilize herself, her stomach busy with making flips. She felt sick… For a moment there, she'd been totally weightless… and then said weight crashed back onto her a tenfold.

So, that was teleportation? All the fuss for _this_? – Another new experience, then; she had a lot of those lately. And this one added to the list of things she didn't wish to explore any further…

"Yeah, yeah, right away, old boy. Let's think this all through again…through to your head…"

The sound's and the voice were unmistakable. Obviously she wasn't the only one whose stomach didn't approve of teleportation: the tauren from earlier knelt on the ground not far from where she stood shakily: he was puking up heavily on the floor. His goblin friend stood next to him, a mix of pity and annoyance on her pretty green face. And those other guys…

Windkin swallowed. Guards. Blood elven guards clad in red and golden armor, watching the tauren soiling the ground; their frowning faces were easy enough to decipher. They barely noticed the slender figure, which came in after the tauren's friend. The newcomer's body and those glowing green eyes, shining from underneath her cowl, indicated enough to not bother with her any more: it was a fellow blood elf returning home.

Well, who was she to bother them during this serious incident? – Keeping close to the wall, she crept past the angry guards, not listening to the goblin talking soothingly to both her sick friend and the guards; Windkin tried to not breathe too deeply to keep the smell of vomit at bay. Leaving the room with the teleportation device, a twin to the one in the Undercity, another vast room opened before her.

It was all she could do to keep herself from gaping; she stared wide eyed. Never before did she imagine such beauty and majesty could exist… it was overwhelming! A large round room, draped with midnight blue silks and tabards; the smooth walls dark red with golden ornaments. She noticed the Horde's crests on the wall, displaying all different factions, gathering around one symbol: a red and golden one with falcon wings and leafs. It was the crest of Silvermoon, the emblem her people would gather around…

Why did she feel so reluctant to even look at it, and yet being unable to take her eyes off?

It was doubt, she figured, swallowing. Hesitantly, her eyes now traveled down, down her frame clad in simple brown leathers in the style of pandaren fashion. Looking like this, with her past… Was she enough of a blood elf to claim kinship here? This place was striking; breath-taking… it was everything Orgrimmar wasn't. Did she belong here?

No.

Her shoulders slumped; it was obvious now, that she didn't belong here. She had just experienced magic for the first time in her life; magic, this foreign thing that had been just a word for her, and now this overwhelming splendor greeted her, too. This wasn't home, at least not for her. This place was repelling her, as if the spirits that resided here knew that this young blood elf wasn't like she should be. She was a deviant; unwanted and unwelcome.

Her feet moved on their own. She didn't need to see was laid beyond this palace, she concluded; she didn't need to know any more about how much she wasn't like others of her kin… She didn't need to know how deep the gab was, that separated her from everything people considered her to be: a blood elf.

But if she wasn't that, what could she be instead? Well, she would simply find out… somewhere _other_ than here. She would write a letter to the masters, telling them that she would continue her studies elsewhere. Anywhere but here…

Suppressing a sob, she turned around –

"Oi, elf!"

She'd bumped into a hart mountain covered in soft leathers, and unmoving like a brick wall. There hadn't been a wall before…! – Strong hands clamped around her arms, kept her from falling. Shaking her head, she looked up into – another pair of glowing green eyes.

"That's the wrong way, miss," the man said.

Blinking, she wanted to drown: she'd ran into the orc, the one who had startled her into hastily touching the orb – and next to him his blood elf friend, who had caught her from tumbling. Oh, Ancestors, he was so… _close_. And she saw everything, from his silver blond hair, the crows feet nestled in the edges of his eyes, invisible if she wouldn't have been so _close_… He was wearing blue and grey leathers and mail, a dark spiked bow strapped over his back – a hunter? And how could he be so strong, holding her up as if she wouldn't weight anything at all? It wasn't like she was skipping meals lately…

Patting his robes, the orc looked down at the stunned elven girl, still held steady by his friend. "Did you forget something?" he asked not unfriendly. "I wouldn't want to go that way, if I were you, though. All honor to our tauren friends, but that guy really made a mess." She could still hear the poor soul in the other room rattling and coughing. Hopefully, those guards weren't too hart with him; the way they looked, however, they were anything than positive towards that warrior and his aversion to magical transportation…

"No, I just…" Just – what? – Scrambling away from the male elf to get some room to think, thinking itself became impossible: that man was still too close… too real… too perfect. Too much an _elf_! She could feel him through her tunic even from the newly gained distance between them; he practically radiated. She couldn't place it. Was it some sort of invisible aura? A halo? …

"I just lost sight of my friends," she finally said; a poor lie, but better than telling the truth: that coming here was nothing but a bad, _bad _idea! "I thought they were already here… but maybe they are still in Tirisfal." She didn't make up good lies when being stressed…

And neither of the two males seemed to buy it, that much she could tell. She couldn't know that even in the crowd, they had seen her; this unusually plain blood elf girl coming from Brill, who had come all alone. – After a split second, however, the orc shrugged, not bothering any further that a stranger kept her secrets from them. "Whatever, girl; but wherever your friends are, they are certainly not back in there; and mind me, we shouldn't be either."

With that, he shoved elves, one being amused; the other nervous and tense, out of the grand hall and into a long corridor with rounded openings barely covered by translucent curtains, leading to unimaginable secrets, to the exit, a wide opening growing before them.

Windkin didn't have the time to protest – when suddenly bright sunlight greeted her. Outside already? – Digging her heals in; she stopped, not bothering the two males anymore or those guards standing in two rows along the bridge that would lead her…

Home?


End file.
